


City of Angels

by theleafpile



Category: Angel: the Series, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 06:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11663472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleafpile/pseuds/theleafpile
Summary: Angel hears the Devil himself has come to L.A. He has no desire to be in his orbit, but Lucifer seems intent on getting an answer to the one question always on his mind.





	City of Angels

**Author's Note:**

> A small fic for my fellow Lucifer and Angel fans. Very early Angel Season 1. Consider the timeline a little fussed with, but that's what artistic license is for, right?
> 
> RIP Glenn Quinn
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

“If you want to ask Cordelia out, you should do it yourself. You don’t need me to be your third wheel,” said Angel, sitting back in his office chair as the sun set in the window ahead of him, unwilling – and he may even argue, unable – to ‘go out,’ as Doyle was so casually suggesting, to a nightclub. Any nightclub. Or anywhere with people. He wasn’t good with people.

“It’s Friday night, man,” Doyle argued, throwing a glance over his shoulder to the other room, hoping the woman-in-question wasn’t eavesdropping. “Besides,” he said, lowering his Irish-lilted voice to a whisper, “there’s this place we should check out. Be right up your alley. Though you, you know. Hang out in a lot of 'em. But it'd be like one you like. A nice alley.”

“And how’s that?” Angel asked, turning in his chair. Against his better judgement, the man amused him. Especially when he was trying to get him to open up, to be more social. Not that he’d ever let him know.

“Because,” said Doyle, his voice still a hoarse whisper, “word on the street is that it’s run by the Devil himself. Figured you’d want to take a gander. And if it doesn’t work out and he’s not the Prince of Darkness, then we can all have a good laugh over a couple of pints –”

Angel interrupted. “I knew you were funny, Doyle, but I didn’t know you could tell a joke.”

The other man huffed, crossing his arms. Angel leaned back, crossing his arms over his loose, gray sweater. Not exactly club-going attire.

“How about we go find out for ourselves, eh? Instead of sitting around moping in the dark like some –”

“Vampire?”

“I was gonna say, slacker, but sure, whatever you like. Boss,” he added for emphasis. “It’s no Goldfingers, but I’ve heard good things.”

Cordelia popped around the corner in her little red number, the only nice dress she hadn’t sold for some quick cash, flashing a dazzling smile. “You guys coming?” she asked, nearly bouncing in her heels. “Angel? Would it kill you to have a night out?”

“Historically, love, his ‘nights out’ usually killed someone else.”

“Thanks, Doyle,” Angel chided.

Cordelia shrugged off his comment with another smile. “But that was like, ages ago. Live a little,” she urged, and in her eyes Angel saw what she wanted to hide: her loneliness, the need to escape for a short while the confines of her tiny apartment and the small office space they shared, the desire for a new experience with an old – well, not friend, exactly, but at least a familiar face.

Angel had no interest in clubbing, with all the bodies packed in tightly into a small space, nor the drinks that Doyle was suggesting. But he did want to help people.

He figured it may be a good idea to start at home.

\--

It was not a good idea. In fact, it might have been one of the worst ideas Angel had ever been part of, and he’d been involved in 14 wars, including a couple undeclared ones.

The bouncer took one look at Doyle with his flashy shirt and collar up over his jacket and left him outside the door. Cordelia and Angel slipped in easily, much to her liking. Cordelia didn’t offer Doyle a second glance as she entered the club, dragging in Angel behind her, making him promise that he would definitely, really, and I-mean-it leave her alone all night unless it just so happened to look like she was about to be very eaten by somebody, and not in a good way.

He promised. Which left him sitting at the corner of the bar, nursing a drink he didn’t care about, and keeping an eye on her anyway while she did what she claimed she did best: mingle. 

The music was loud and definitely not his type, and he’d already brushed off two or three advances. It was a lot more people than he’d been around in quite some time, and the smell of warm bodies and languid heat was threatening to make him dizzy. 

One fact made him more uncomfortable than he’d thought it would, especially given the perfect hunting grounds the club provided: there were no vampires - not a single one - in the room. He wasn't sure why. 

The bartender set a glass down in front of him and he straightened his posture, a word of protest of his lips while she poured his drink, studying his face. She then lifted the glass to her own lips, resting an elbow on the bar, a cat-like grin making its way across her face. “I’m Mazikeen,” she purred.

He returned his gaze to the dance floor. “I didn’t ask.”

She smiled, cold and hungry. He recognized the look immediately, and pushed his glass toward her. Maybe that was why there were no vampires: they were afraid of something there. He began to stand, but a light touch on his shoulder from behind shoved back down onto the stool. He turned as a man leaned on the bar next to him, all fluid lines and easy posture, blocking his view of the floor. His relaxed state against the scent of fear in the rest of the club - fear of inadequacy, of not measuring up (perhaps quite literally) - made him think this was the man who owned the place. The fear was intoxicating, and all Angel wanted to do was grab Cordelia and leave. It seemed the man in front of him had other things in mind.

“It’s rude to be – well. Rude,” he said, smiling down his nose. “Or so I’ve been told. Never could get the hang of the politeness business, myself. Seems so unnecessary.”

“I’m not here for trouble,” Angel explained, his voice tight. It wasn’t a plea. It was a threat. He looked the man over by instinct. His tight, dark suit revealed no weapons, but like Angel, his could simply be hidden inside. He didn’t smell human, but that left infinite other possibilities to his origin. 

The bartender and the man exchanged a glance, a light chuckle escaping from his throat. “Yet here you are,” he said, teasingly. “How nice for us.”

Angel tried looking over the taller man’s shoulder to see if Cordelia was still dancing the night away, ignoring the comment. “Never much liked the English.”

“Oh, he’s funny too, Maze. Don’t you think?”

She nodded slowly. 

“Yeah,” Angel deadpanned. “Regular joke machine. Now if you don’t mind –” he said, starting once again to stand, “I’d really like to find my friend –”

The man shoved him back down in his seat, and a low growl escaped Angel’s throat. It only prompted another smile.

“I do mind, because there is something about you that I don’t quite understand. It’s not often the Devil comes across something he’s never seen before.” He leaned down, closer, a flash of hellfire in his eyes. “So if you’d be so kind as to answer my questions.”

Angel tilted his chin up, defiant. “Sure. You’re the Devil. And I’m Mary Poppins.”

Maze set her glass on the bar, the muscles in her arms tensing. 

“Lucifer Morningstar,” said the man, holding a hand between them. The smile did not reach his eyes. “The one and only.” 

Angel only looked at it, and after a moment, the other man let it drop. “Listen, pal. You’re not the first supernatural being to try and pass himself off as the Adversary. Usually a sign of someone who’s all flash and no bang.”

“Catholic boy, too,” said the man, turning toward the bartender. “Tell me, did you still retain your faith after you died, or was it a one-time-only kind of gig? Only relevant for the living? Though in my experience, it’s the dead who are more apt to be afraid.”

Angel shook his head, not understanding the question. The man laid a hand on Angel’s shoulder, looking deeply into his dark eyes. “I’ve never seen a demon with a human soul floating around inside it. Or it is the other way around?”

Angel steeled his gaze, unable to pull away from the other man’s thrall.

Lucifer tilted his head toward the stairs. Maze began to make her way around the bar, stopping between the men and the steps, waiting for her next move. The club seemed to move around the two of them, leaving them untouched. 

“I have what you want,” Lucifer continued, drawing him in. “Upstairs.”

“And what’s that?” he asked, through gritted teeth. “Barbie’s latest beach house?”

He leaned closer, eyes darting to Angel’s lips. “Dear. You are obstinate. Blood, you moron. Loads of eager young things. So long as you leave them alive, of course.”

The way the word fell from his lips nearly made Angel’s dead heart pump with life, and he ignored the rest, swallowing against the tightening of his throat. He would never agree to such an offer, but something about the man in front of him made him feel it was alright – and more than that. That it was the right thing to do, to give into his desires.

“You see,” Lucifer continued, “I know desire. I know what people want, what they need.”

“I’m not people.”

“No, you’re not, are you,” Lucifer praised. “You’re something different. Something better –”

Angel clenched his jaw, trying to pull away, but it seemed the truth fell out of him, whether he liked it or not. “Something worse.”

Lucifer only hummed in response, considering. “You know Hell,” he finally said. “And I don’t mean the run-of-the-mill torture parts, the custom-made cells for the guilty, though you’d know something about that as well. No. You know Hell, intimately. Perhaps as much as we do,” he said, gesturing to Maze. He waited a beat. Angel continued to resist. 

"Fine,” he said, releasing whatever hold on the man he had. 

Angel blinked a few times, surprised at the physical sensation that accompanied the retracting of his attention. 

“Maybe one or two things can remain a mystery,” he told the bartender, who seemed oddly put-off by the statement. 

“Thanks,” Angel said, slipping off the stool.

Lucifer shot out a hand, loosely grabbing the other man’s forearm. “Before you run off, at least do me this courtesy and tell me your name? I guarantee, I never forget a face – especially not one like yours,” he added, and Angel nearly acquiesced, “but it is always nice to have a name to go along with it.”

Angel looked at the hand on his arm, and the other man dropped it. “If you’re really the Devil, why don’t you tell me?”

“I’m not omniscient,” he laughed. “And as much as my Father would lend you to believe, neither is He.”

“And you thought I was funny,” Angel said, brushing past him and back into the crowd. Lucifer swiveled around, a pout on his features. Angel decided he liked the look. 

“C’mon, now, don’t be that way,” he called out. “I can be a very good friend to have, you know.”

Angel paused, and Lucifer smiled at his back. He hid it as the other man turned around.

“You’re not going to like it,” he said, a smile threatening at the corners of his own mouth. 

“Surprise me.”

Cordelia appeared at that moment, nearly out of breath, shoving herself into Angel’s side. She began to push him toward the door, throwing a wary glance over her shoulder and, upon noticing the tall, dark and handsome man at the bar, flashed him one of her bright smiles and moving away from Angel’s side. “You didn’t say you knew the owner,” she said, ready to make her own kind of connection.

“He doesn’t,” Lucifer interrupted. “But he’s welcome to. As you are, my dear. Does she know what you are?” he asked.

Cordelia laughed, and Angel began to steer her away. She tried to push him off but he retained his grip on her arm, walking her out. 

“Angel!” she cried, trying to sneak a look over her shoulder as he put some distance between the club owner and themselves, “Angel, please. How many opportunities –”

Her voice trailed away, mixing with the music, and Lucifer resumed his stance against the counter. Maze joined his side, a laugh in her throat, watching the two of them leave.

“Angel,” she repeated, the word dripping from her mouth like poison. Lucifer stirred the amber liquid in his glass, gazing at the empty spot the other man had just occupied. “Bad name for a demon.”

“He wasn’t just that, Maze. Even you could see that.”

“Uh, yeah. Half-breed. Want me to take care of it?”

He shook his head as she walked away, resuming her position behind the bar.

“Angel,” he repeated, lifting the glass to his lips. “I like it.”

\--

Samantha at the front desk may have no longer been into men, but with a face like Angel’s, one was known to make an exception. 

He strolled through the homicide department, making a beeline for the one person who he knew might take his information seriously, after months of making his way through the various LAPD precincts trying to find someone, anyone, who wouldn’t throw him out on his ass at the first whiff at something supernatural. That one person happened to be another hard-as-nails, beautiful, blonde detective. Seems he had a type.

He pulled out the chair next to her desk and plopped himself down in it. She watched as he did so, just finishing up with a phone call. He waited, patiently, as she hung up and scribbled something down on a scrap piece of paper, one of many occupying her desk.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he said, a smile in his eyes. 

She shook her head at him, but it was good natured. “Yeah, because every time you take a seat in that chair it seems my ass is the one that gets put into the fire.”

“That was one time. And I apologized.”

She sighed, a smile on her face, putting down her pen. “What’s up, Angel? Because I have to warn you, unless you’ve got information on the Marlowe double-murder, I’m not going to be particularly interested in what you have to say to me right now.”

He looked down at his hands, wringing them together between his knees. Her expression softened at his reluctance. 

“It’s a triple murder,” he corrected. “You’re going to find the third vic and the murderer at the Beverly Hilton. Basement level.”

She waited for him to lift his gaze to meet hers. He did not.

“Why am I going to find them there, Angel?” she asked.

He stood. “It’s over, now. That’s all you need to know.”

“Hold on. If we –” she started, but was interrupted by another voice.

“It’s you,” it said, and Angel turned to follow the sound. Lucifer made his way around the other side of the desk, standing next to Chloe, absentmindedly handing her seated figure a cup of coffee. He looked Angel over, admiring. “Four years, is it? And you haven’t aged a day. And I mean that quite literally. Lovely.”

“You guys know each other?” she asked. They gave opposite, one-word answers. She raised her eyebrows at the discrepancy. 

“Not as well as I hoped,” explained Lucifer, and Chloe relaxed. Slightly. Angel seemed to stiffen. “And I never did get to finish my questioning,” he began.

“Or me,” Chloe added. 

Angel backed away, suddenly feeling very interrogated. 

“Running away, again? It’s not a very good look on you. Though I do appreciate the whole black, leather, broody thing you’ve got going on,” Lucifer said, “reminds me of someone else.” He shot a look over at the Detective, who was not as amused as he was. “Though your hair doesn’t do the –” he made an upward motion with his hand, to which Angel could only shake his head, his eyes asking Chloe a question. She shrugged.

"She know what you are?" Angel asked, before Lucifer could do whatever it was he was about to. Lucifer straightened, a little shocked at the abruptedness of the question. Chloe's eyes darted between the two. 

Lucifer returned his attention to Angel, fixing his gaze. Angel’s steps faltered, then stopped. “So tell me, now that I have your undivided attention,” he said, grinning. “What is it you truly desire, half-breed?”

“Half – what?” Chloe asked, making her way to Lucifer’s other side and trying to regain his attention. “I have actual questions about actual things that matter, Lucifer.”

He brushed her off with a wave. “That can wait. This is important.”

She clenched her jaw. “More important than a – what? Triple murder? Finding out what a PI wants?” 

Lucifer sighed, exasperated, pulling his gaze away. Angel took the opportunity to disappear back up the stairs. He was gone before Lucifer or Chloe could return their attention, to resume their wildly different lines of questioning. She let him go, gathering her items and walking away to inform her lieutenant of the possible development in her case. Lucifer kept his eyes on the stairs, only moving when Chloe shoved him to get going. 

\--

Angel stood in the shadow of a nearby building, just out of range of the flashing police lights, watching. The Beverly Hilton was veritably swarmed with police. It wasn’t a good look for the place, but then again, neither were the couple of bodies in the laundry room. A familiar figure stepped out the lobby, lighting a cigarette. He inhaled, then blew smoke out his nose, peering into the darkness. Angel could feel his gaze roaming. He remained still. 

‘I’ve seen worse,” Lucifer said, and Angel was startled – it didn’t happen often – at his sudden proximity. “But then, so have you,” he added, taking a drag. “Looked you up. Fascinating stuff.”

“Not really.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Lucifer said, a sardonic grin on his face. “I could have used a torturer like you in Hell. Maze does her best, they all do.” He shook his head. “But they only have so much imagination. They lack poetry. You'd have made it into a real art.”

“Not anymore. And I’m not for hire.”

“But you do work,” he said, gesturing toward the hotel. “Beautifully, I may add. Nothing left behind. Not that you’d be in a system. I'd love to know how you exist without all the proper papers. Pain in my arse to get all that together when I first came topside.” 

Angel answered his questioning gaze with silence, and Lucifer dropped the cigarette, stubbing it out under his toe. 

“Thank you,” he added softly, and Angel looked into his face. “The man needed stopping.”

Angel nodded, once, turning on his heel. 

“Answer me this –”

“You know, for someone whose supposed to be the epitome of Evil, you sure ask a lot of questions.”

“Only one.”

Angel huffed out a laugh, staring at the ground. “What I desire.”

“It’s the only question worth asking,” Lucifer explained. “What makes the world go ‘round.”

“You really want me to believe you’re him?” Angel asked. “God’s fallen son?” 

Lucifer smoothed down the front of his suit jacket, waiting. 

Angel paused, considering. “Then I want the same thing you do.”

“And what’s that?” Lucifer asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It hid the insecurity he felt there, the inability to own up to what he truly wanted. It was much easier to be this way, to imagine himself the torturer he was supposed to be, what others expected of him. 

Angel stepped further into the shadows, disappearing into the City of Angels.

His answer echoed in Lucifer's mind long after he left. 

"Forgiveness," he said.


End file.
